


What now?

by TillyN



Series: Speaking is Silver [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brother-Sister Relationships, Don't copy to another site, Gen, Mild Language, Original Character(s), Psychogenic Mutism, Winchester Sister
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2020-12-27 23:01:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21126686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TillyN/pseuds/TillyN
Summary: Turns out that there is more to reuniting with your family than stepping into a car and moving on... Milly invites Sam and Dean to stay at her place while they look for traces of the thing that killed Jess and decide how to proceed.Picks up approximately whereShushleft off.





	1. Making An Entrance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AccioSmutticus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AccioSmutticus/gifts).

> This story takes place in the span of time between the first two episodes of season 1 and directly follows on the events in Shush. I would recommend reading that first for context.

There was a soft thunk, followed by a click as the front door smoothly closed behind them. Sam looked around. The boys were standing in a narrow stairwell, post boxes lining the side of the entrance. Somewhere above them, bright lights flickered as they struggled to switch on properly. Their sister was already halfway the first flight of stairs and gestured for them to follow her. Sam didn't hesitate.

Still dazed from the events earlier that night, the youngest of the three Winchesters trudged up the stairs. He hadn’t really taken the time earlier to consider just where Mildred had come from so suddenly, or how she had known where he lived. Unless of course his sister made a habit of kicking in strangers’ doors to pull them out of burning houses and it was pure coincidence, but somehow he doubted that. ‘Coincidence’ was far too convenient in Sam’s experience. Few things were as convenient though, as the fact that his missing sister would somehow end up living in a flat that just _happened_ to be in the same town as where he was studying, in the same street, with a clear view of his house. Still, he had other concerns right now. _They_ had other concerns. His pace picked up unintentionally, making him almost run into Mildred who had come to a stop on the landing of the second floor. Her key was already in the lock.

The soft click echoed through the quiet stairwell, and Sam threw a look around, making sure everything was still kosher. He met the older girl’s eyes as she held open the door with a gesture for him to enter. Her expression was as blank as ever.

Too impatient to linger any longer, Sam crossed into the room, barely taking stock of the flat he had just entered before catching sight of the open laptop sitting on a desk facing a window. It was encircled by a mess of papers scribbled full of notes, with the occasional book peaking out. A wider semi-circle of stacked books and notebooks seemed to serve to keep the disorganisation somewhat contained. Behind the computer, the curtains were still pulled open, and a single glance outside told Sam just how his sister had been able to respond so quickly. She was looking right at his house. _Weird as fuck. _But he had bigger fish to fry right now.

He glanced over some of the notes. A mixture of scanned print-outs of old documents, highlighter marks and scribbled notes all over, with diagrams, schematics, maps and calculations. He frowned, recognising some of the content. **“You’ve been hunting in Palo Alto? How did you know it was going to come here? What even-” **He turned over a leaf, trying to figure out just what kind of thing the paper was concerned with. A light hand tapped his shoulder.

Sam looked up. The shorter girl glared at him, snatching the sheet of paper out of his hands, and placing it back into the mess with a level of care that implied that somewhere there must be a system in it? Although nothing else would suggest so. Nudging her younger brother out of the way, Mildred snapped her fingers, apparently trying to get Dean’s attention. Her hands moved far too quick for Sam too follow, although from the intensity of the movement and the expression on his sister’s face, he gathered that she wasn’t too pleased with him.

Their brother didn’t seem too bothered about the girl’s urgency, though, raising his hands in a slow gesture. **“If you think I understood a word of what you just said, Red, well, you’re wrong.”** Mildred closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. Then, she moved back, grabbing the laptop from the desk and moving it to the kitchen counter. Dean pulled up a chair, gesturing for Sam to do the same as their sister seemed to be furiously typing away at something already.

Impatient, Sam sat down but immediately turned his attention to the titles on the bookshelf not too far from his head. This side seemed to be mostly made up of textbooks, computer science or something, from the looks of it. **“You’ve got a roommate?”** He turned back to his sister, only to find her glaring at him once again, with Dean shaking his head behind her. **“Read what’s on the screen, dude.”**

He leaned over and glanced at the screen. The first line stood out in bold. **_Hands off my shit. _**Well, at least that was clear, he supposed, studiously avoiding Mildred’s eyes now. He skimmed the next paragraph._ Private research … none of your business ... trapping rituals … someone else’s hunt. Gotta …_ His eyes dropped to the final line. _None of this is about the thing that killed your girl._ When he looked up again, Milly’s expression seemed to have softened somewhat. It only lasted for a second, as the girl blinked and started typing again. Her fingers were quick on the keys, and soon the laptop got turned back in his direction. 

_My roommate is on a research trip. There’s a bed and a couch. Stay as long as you need._

While Sam took a look, his sister got up and started moving around the room with a distracted kind of efficiency.   
A moment later, there were additional blankets and pillows on the counter, the boys knew the locations of the bathroom and roommate’s bedroom, and Dean had been directed towards the couch. Despite the fact that the girl hadn’t made a single sound, Sam felt like he had just been bossed around by someone who wouldn’t let him get a word in edgewise. His sister plucked her laptop off the desk, gathered up a couple of papers and books, and a moment later, she was gone, the door on the right falling closed behind her.

Somehow the silence that was left hanging in the air felt different from a moment before. Sam blinked at the closed door. **“Is she always like that?” **Dean shrugged, turning his back as he riffled through Mildred’s fridge. After a second, he emerged with a beer, silently offering Sam one too. He gladly took it. **“All right. Let’s see what we can dig up on this son of a bitch.”**


	2. Coffee Breaks

Red’s couch _sucked_, Dean concluded as he sleepily reached up and rubbed at his neck, trying to get one of the numerous cricks in his spine worked out. His dad’s journal landed on the floor with a thunk. Distracted, Dean sat up and reached down to pick up the thing. He’d hoped that paging through it again might bring up more information Dad had left for him regarding his location. With Sammy’s fixation on tracking down his girlfriend’s killer, he hadn’t gotten as much of a chance to look the journal over as he’d liked. Not that _that _search had been particularly fruitful so far… but Dean was hardly going to tell his younger brother no just yet. He was just glad Sam was where he could keep an eye on him.

There was a sudden noise behind him, someone banging on the kitchen counter not too far from his head. Dean’s eyes zeroed in on the ‘threat’, but before his mind had the chance to catch up with the situation, a pair of hands were waving in his face. Right. Red.

**“What?”** His sister didn’t look particularly impressed by his powers of apprehension, but nevertheless slowed down and repeated her signs. He caught about one in five or so. Maybe. The lack of understanding must have shown on his face because Red abruptly broke off what she was saying. A dirty beer glass was snatched up from in front of his nose and landed into the sink with a splash that confirmed his baby sister’s frustration loud and clear. Dean rubbed his face again.

**“Red…”** The glare thrown in his direction was enough to get Dean to turn back to the couch and fallen journal. If she didn’t want to talk, that was just fine by him. The less emotional crap to deal with right now, the better. Things were messy enough with Sam. Behind him, the kitchen cupboards slammed closed. Then it was quiet.

Dean relaxed in the silence for all of two seconds before frowning and turning around to see what his sister was up to. She was leaning against the counter with her back to him, her hands outside his line of sight. His phone buzzed. Dean frowned, reading the text. With a sigh, he ran his hand through his hair before getting up, walking around the couch and counter, and planting himself right opposite his sister. She was looking supremely unconcerned, with her eyes firmly stuck on her phone. The older boy clenched his jaw in frustration. Tense silence hung between them.

A few times, Dean opened his mouth, almost ready to speak before closing it again. They’d been doing so well in avoiding this. His phone buzzed again. He eyed the girl in front of him. She’d changed little since their last in-person meeting a couple of months before all this mess. It had been just a brief chat over a cup of coffee, her texting on occasion, him doing most of the talking. Nobody touched on the topics of discussion better avoided — there were quite a few — and everything went smooth as could be. He’d asked if he could see her place, if she’d been dating anyone cute recently, and she’d given him the finger, the usual shit. Red kept her cards close to her chest, and that was just fine with Dean. They didn’t need too many words between them.

The atmosphere right now wasn’t near so friendly. Red looked tired, Dean noted, though he supposed she could likely say the same thing about him. Her shoulders were tense, and her body language closed off. **“Red.”** At least for a moment, her eyes lifted and met his. For a moment they just looked at each other. Then she dropped her gaze again. A second later his phone buzzed. _Sammy? _Dean narrowed his eyes at the screen. She could just as easily have signed that. She _knew_ he’d have understood. Still, he decided to ignore the dig and nodded in the direction of the desk at the window, which had a conspicuously empty spot in the middle, where Sam’s laptop had quickly become at home since Red removed her oh-so-private notes from the place. **“Said he was going to the library an hour or two ago.”** She relaxed marginally.

Other questions hung between them. Why she had so suddenly changed her mind about telling Sammy after years and years of secrecy. Why she had let them stay _at her house_. The thing that killed their mum being back. Dad… Mildred might have let them into her house, but Dean wasn’t so sure yet whether that meant she was going to let them any further into her life. Not a little thing, of course, considering how intensely private the girl was, but the eldest Winchester couldn’t deny it irked him, seeing his siblings living together again, yet Red systematically keeping them at a distance.

Once again, he opened his mouth to say something, but one of the kitchen machines behind him beeped, and Dean’s nose belated registered the smell of fresh coffee. He grinned, snatching up the mug from under the machine and taking a sip — burning his lips in the process (the caffeine was worth it) — before his sister had a chance to open her mouth. **“Too slow.”** He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, demonstratively savouring the aromas. Then he caught sight of the smirk on her face and the direction of her eyes. He looked down at his mug again, finally noting the decoration. His sister smugly lifted her own mug, which had apparently been sitting on the counter behind her all this time, and threw him a kitchen towel with a clear stare at the wet dishes stacked next to the counter and the full drying rack. Before he could protest that he was busy, the door to her room clicked closed. **“Fucking brat.”** ‘Little miss princess’ indeed.

* * *

Sam woke up with a start. _Jess_. He took a shaky breath. It was just a dream. He was fine. Everything was wrong, but _he_ was fine. The boy mentally rehearsed that line a couple more times, until he felt his heart rate go down a little. Sam checked his watch. Three AM… how long had he been asleep for? Ninety minutes? Less? With a tired gesture, he rubbed the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes for a moment. Wrong choice. Flames were dancing in his mind, Jess face above him, _Jess… _His eyes snapped back open, and Sam forcefully willed himself to look at the notes that were on the floor beside him where he’d sat with his back against the bed for the past couple hours. Focus on the letters, words. Calm the fuck down.

He needed coffee. The thought appeared out of nothing, cutting through the exhausted frustration. Coffee would help him focus, calm him down and keep him up. He could try to sleep again later, in a couple of hours. Maybe. With a groan, the tall guy pushed himself off the floor and stumbled out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, only to find himself eye to eye with their host.

Mildred looked away first, stepping back to make room for him against the counter with a nod in the direction of the coffee machine. Sam inclined his head and followed her example as he leaned back and waited, trying not to feel annoyed about the girl’s presence. It was _her_ kitchen after all. The soft buzzing of the coffee machine and Dean’s quiet snoring coming from the direction of the couch failed to fill in the silence. It _itched_.

Most of the time, Sam did not have an issue with a bit of comfortable quiet, but ‘comfort’ was the prime issue here: silence around Mildred was anything but. It stretched and strained, whispering with mystery and unvoiced tension, yet telling nothing. The urge to break it, to keep talking even when he had nothing to say or just make some sound, was constant. And yet, to act on that urge felt like an unwelcome disruption. Stupid, impulsive, ignorant. Mildred made him feel like an idiot without ever saying a word.

Sam threw his sister a sideways glance. If she was aware of his discomfort, she didn’t show it. The machine beeped softly. Tired, he waited for the girl to pour her coffee so that he could grab his own mug. Mildred would grab her drink and disappear back into her room without a word, no doubt. He’d seen her do little different these past couple days, whenever she was in the house with them.

There was a soft clunk, and the next moment the smell of fresh coffee hit his nose. Sam looked down in surprise. A damping mug made its way in his direction, sliding over the counter. Mildred was still there, blowing softly over her own cup. Her expression was impossible for Sam to decipher. She looked tired, in a way. Bags under her eyes that he somehow hadn’t noticed before. No surprise, of course, considering that it was the middle of the night- he blinked. It was the middle of the night.

Again, he looked over at this girl, his sister, a memory drifting to the surface. Something Dean had said, about her being fucked up after Mum… He almost asked, but the silence felt so heavy all of a sudden. He didn’t dare. He took a sip of his coffee. When he looked back up, Mildred was looking back at him. Her expression had changed. What precisely was different he couldn’t tell, but there was a warmth in there. Sympathy and understanding, mixed with anxiety and exhaustion. She almost seemed to smile. Sam hesitated.

**“Do you…?”** He did not finish the question because the moment the words left his mouth, he knew speaking had been a mistake.  
The girl blinked, and all the warmth was gone, her face closed off. She reached a fist to her chest, and for a moment Sam thought she might be signing something, but then she dropped it. **_Night_.** She finger-spelt the word, her movements slow and deliberate, and a moment later, the door to her room clicked closed. **“Goodnight,”** Sam said quietly to the dark wood. He took a slow sip of the coffee, relishing the warmth. **“And thanks.”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first time I have tried posting a story as I am writing it, rather than completing and editing the whole thing first. My apologies for any pacing issues, snags, delays, and editing mistakes that result from that.


	3. When push comes to shove

It wasn’t until she nearly hit herself in the face with the book in an attempt to make out the words, that Milly realised just how late it had gotten. Only dim lamplight from the street lanterns outside was still coming through her window. As she got up to close the curtains and switch on the lights, the girl glared at the dark night sky as if silently blaming it for the inconvenience. With a sigh, she got back behind her desk and looked for the book she’d been reading before. You would think that locating something you put down just moments ago shouldn’t be too much of a chore, but among the messy stacks of books that surrounded her laptop, Milly struggled to find much of anything. She scrunched up her nose in annoyance. _Honestly_, she should know better by now than to let the place get into such a state.

The low rumbling of male voices coming from the other side of the door only compounded her frustration. It wasn’t the noise she minded so much. Josie was never particularly quiet with her inclination to drum on every open surface she encountered, and while her friend was away, Milly couldn’t deny the place had been feeling awfully empty. So no, she didn’t mind the noise. It was the voices that felt out of place. Made _her_ feel out of place in her own home. She hesitated as she reached for the door. No, this was silly, Milly instantly chastised herself. This was her place, the boys knew she was home, she had every right to enter her own kitchen.

Finally, she opened the door and stepped into the communal area. Sam was sitting at her usual spot, the desk near the window, while she could only see Dean’s feet, hanging over the edge of the couch. Typical. Ignoring the boys for now, Milly confidently walked to the cupboard and grabbed herself a glass of water from the tap. **“Mildred?” **Sammy waved her over.

Although she tried not to show it, the girl couldn’t help the warm feeling in her chest. She plonked herself down on the couch, and Dean’s legs, with supreme unconcern for her brother’s protests as she reached for the dry-erase board and pen she’d gotten used to leaving on the counter these days. _What’s up?_ A finger flicked against her head, so Milly’s heel made contact with Dean’s shin. **_Shut up_.** She turned her attention back to the brother who wasn’t being an idiot. Noticing the frown on Sammy’s face, though, the girl quickly wrote out the meaning of her signs with an arrow to the man they were directed at, before slowly repeating them. Sam blinked, the briefest flicker of understanding appearing before he returned to the frowny face expression she’d grown accustomed to from her youngest brother this last week. Not that she blamed him. She pointed back at the first question she’d written down, inclining her head in question. That seemed to help a bit.

Sam leaned forward, rubbing his heads on his jeans. **“Dean wants to leave.” **Now it was Milly’s turn to frown as she turned to look at the brother in question. Dean leaned back and shrugged. **“We’re not getting anywhere here. We’ve combed the whole damn place. Dad’s our best shot, and he’s still missing. Seems to me that these…”** He nodded at John’s journal on the table, and the co-ordinates scrawled over the open page. **“These are our only lead.”**

Milly bristled at the mention of their father, but, taking note of her little brother’s expression, she held her tongue. _When?_It was Dean who responded to the written question this time. **“How quick can you be packed?”** She met his eyes. They were hard, imploring. Dean knew exactly what he was doing, what she was about to say, and he wasn’t backing down. Milly started raising her hands, but Dean’s glare at the whiteboard stopped her. She let out a sharp breath and turned slightly so that her back was towards the brother she did not want to see right now.

The uncapped pen hovered over the board. Milly hesitated. Sammy was looking at her, exhaustion written on his face. She could still see the pain in there, the frustration and anger about what had happened, the need to do _something_, to chase down this monster. _Monster_. Her chest tightened, as did her resolve.

_I cannot come._

She didn’t look up when she turned the board around, didn’t want to see her brother’s reaction.

There was a pause. Then, a sharp exhalation. Next to her, Dean slapped his hands on his knees and got up. **“Alright then. Let’s get a move on, Sammy.”** He wouldn’t even look at her, just started throwing his stuff into the duffel bag at the foot of the couch. There wasn’t the slightest surprise there, only disappointment. It made her stomach churn.

Dean nudged their brother’s shoulder, nodding towards the laptop and notes on the desk. **“Come on.”** Sam wasn’t moving. Dean was already halfway out the door. **“_Sam._” **The commanding tone made Milly cringe, unwanted memories drifting to the surface of half packed up motel rooms and John’s impatient orders. **“Dean, stop.”** That made her look up. Sammy was still exactly where he had been at the start of their conversation. **“How long do you think you’ll take to sort things out?” **The question caught her by surprise. She looked over at Dean. The oldest Winchester threw his younger brother a most incredulous look. **“I’m not saying we should wait longer. We can go ahead and Mildred will catch up when she’s got everything sorted, she’s got a roommate and apartment to take care of, Dean.”** The resolute undertone was just a tad too strong, betraying the doubt it was trying to mask.

Again, Milly hesitated. Dean must have noticed. Impatience and disappointment laced his voice as he shook his head. **“No, Sammy. _Mildred_ isn’t planning on coming, full stop.”** A pause. **“Well, are you?”** She couldn’t help it. Milly looked away. **“See. Come on.”** **“_No_.” **The couch dipped. **“Give her a chance Dean.” **Sammy sounded so determined, so forceful. Then, quieter. “**At _least_ tell me why.”** Her eyes met his. Big, and brown, and full of hurt they were. Hurt and betrayal. She looked at the dry-erase board. A deep breath.

Carefully, she wiped the board clean with the side of her fist, and then, she started writing. It took a couple minutes, both to find the right words and to get them written out. It was frustrating, writing like this. Her thoughts moved so much quicker, her hands would have too, but neither boy would understand. Most people didn’t. That’s why she carried the board with her in her bag all fucking day. She’d grown used to it quickly enough when she had become an only child for all intents and purposes and needed to fend for herself at school. But that didn’t mean she had to like it. People were impatient, wouldn’t wait for her to finish formulating her thoughts, would interrupt her, talk over or ignore her. And even if they weren’t, instead of looking at her, communicating with _her_, they were looking at the stupid board, or their phones, whichever was the easiest. Talking to it as if _that_ were their conversation partner. Hell, half the time they didn’t even remember to talk out loud, instead texting or writing her back. Like she was bloody invisible.

Finally, she handed Sam the board. Dean could read over his brother’s shoulder if he wanted to, but _she_ sure wasn’t talking to him right now. The boy took a moment to read. **“This…” **He waved the board in a gesture of frustration. **“It doesn’t make any sense, you know that right?”** Dean snorted and plucked the writing materials out of his brother’s hands. **“Don’t bother, Sammy. She knows, she just doesn’t care.” **_She_ felt like bloody well punching her brother in the mouth. With the writing board out of reach, she raised her hands to at least defend herself. Dean looked right at her, blatantly not even attempting to read her signs. **“Why do you think I didn’t ask _Red_ to come with me when Dad went missing?”** Milly could hear her heart pounding in her ears, and she pressed her fists closed, nails cutting into her palms. He knew nothing. It meant nothing. **“He’s her dad too, after all.”**

In a flash of anger, she tore the board from Dean’s fingers. **_JOHN _**_IS __NOT__ MY DAD. _She underlined the name a couple more times for good measure. Dean glanced at it once, grabbed his bag. He already had one foot out the door by the time he turned back to her. **“We’re done. Car’s leaving in five minutes, Sam.”** The door slammed in the lock.

Milly looked at her little brother. Sammy. He looked so lost… **“We’d just have to practice. We can train on the way, learn ASL, learn signals, I don’t know. But you wouldn’t even have to hunt. You can just come along in the car, help with the research…All this stuff-“ **He gestured at the books lining the walls, the sketches and notes Sam had neatly stacked in the window sill. **“You help others hunt, you could do the same with us. If you chose to. Dad isn’t even around right now. No one will make you stay once we find him. _I _am not exactly looking forward to seeing the man either, you know.**”

It hurt so fucking much. Milly swallowed. She wasn’t going to cry. She was _not_ going to fucking cry over John Winchester. Never again.

**_C O M E_**, she finger-spelt, gesturing for Sam to follow her, into her room. Neither boy had been welcome there before.

It was right where she’d left it, in the back of the notebook she kept in the drawer of the bedside table. She pulled out the heavy envelope and held it out to the younger boy. Sammy took the offered object, turning it around in his hands. There was an address on the back. He moved to open it, but she put her hands on his. **_W A I T._** He opened his mouth, but Milly continued spelling. **_A L O N E._** The boy looked at her, hundreds of questions dancing in his eyes that she knew he was afraid to ask. Her sweet, inquisitive baby brother… This wasn’t quite the way she’d imagined their reunion.

With a bitter taste in her mouth, she pushed away that thought and gently guided him back to the living room. She helped him pack his bag in silence. At the door, she stopped him. An impatient call echoed up the stairwell for Sam. He looked distraught. Milly held up her phone. **_C A L L. _**He had her phone number now.

There were so many more things she wantedto say. So much more she knew he needed from her right now. But Sammy needed Dean more, and much as she hated to admit it, Dean wasn’t wrong: if they wanted to find the thing that killed Jessica, John Winchester would be more capable of helping them. As she nudged him towards the stairs, she tried to convince herself that this was better for everyone involved. That she was just taking care of all of them, protecting them. And protecting herself.

After a muted goodbye, the boy was gone. She could hear his heavy steps drudging down the stairs, the quiet, low rumbling of male voices at the bottom of the stairwell as Dean told him to hurry up. And as she watched them drive away from the window, she signed a last word, simultaneously pressing send on her phone. _Sorry_. 


End file.
